


The Heart's Proxy

by djkiwi2576 (Kiwi25)



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwi25/pseuds/djkiwi2576
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Substitutions are sometimes required in order to heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart's Proxy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ holiday gift exchange.

**The Heart’s Proxy**

  
News of the Crown Prince’s death rocked Camelot to its core. It had been a tumultuous few months following Arthur’s demise, the revelation of Morgana’s true parentage; her subsequent betrayal with Morgause and Cenred – now the future king’s death.

Uther was directly responsible.

Guilt was eating him alive.

The people regained their hope, spring promised to bring a time of new beginnings and a potential for healing.

While, Uther Pendragon wasted day and night continuing to mourn the loss of his only son. The king exploded in fits of rage, unleashing his wrath on unsuspecting servants and knights. Levying countless death sentences against common people for simply failing to address his grief in a manner he deemed respectful. Everyone fell subject to the pain; Gaius, the faithful friend and the young men his son once called friends.

The knights of Arthur’s round table travailed day and night, searching the country side for the murderous trio. It was Leon who returned with Morgana, her wrists bound and mouth gagged. There was no gentleness to his touch as he shoved her to the tiled marble beneath the king’s feet. A menacing smile curled her lips and Uther’s stomach churned with disgust when he noted the pleasure his daughter took in the somber mood that hung in the throne room.

“Why?” His voice hoarse from countless hours of screaming and heartless rebuke, again his tenor elevated, “Tell…me…why!”

Her answer came in the form of a haunting laugh that embraced him like the arms of a forgotten lover; tight and restricting. It soon became evident to the king that he had suffered more than one loss on the back of his poorly made decisions.

Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan appeared a few days later with Morgause and the body of Cenred in tow. Their faces weary from their journey, stained with the dirt from the road, and blood that could no longer be distinguished as guilty or innocent. It was then and only then that Uther noticed who the men paid their allegiance to. Each bent formally at the waist and addressed the maid, with bloodshot eyes, in a greeting fit for a queen.

He heard their whispers; recounts of his son’s final moments of life. Arthur had been concerned for Camelot. He relayed his wishes, swore them to honor his father, only if the king’s path was remained untainted by bitterness and hatred. Then before succumbing to his final breath he held each man’s hand and met their eyes, “Guinevere, protect and serve my queen.” Even facing death his heart had remained true.

Uther’s remorse grew. What Arthur and the maid shared was not enchantment. He envied his child; pure, unadulterated love was something he had never experienced.

He would honor his son with vengeance.

Morgause’s execution was swift and just.

The king could not sentence his only surviving child to the same fate she’d placed on Arthur’s head. He banished her, remanding her to the arms of the abandonment she claimed for so many years.

He renewed his vow to the kingdom he once loved with all sincerity. Promising to rule with an open heart and mind, magic was allowed, but regulated. Taxes and tariffs were reduced. Slowly he saw his people begin to thrive.

Taking a page from his son’s book, the king walked amongst those who made their home in his kingdom; journeying the muddy roads by foot, taking in the scent of fresh herbs and the bread that made his mouth water with one whiff. It was painful watching the villagers scurry because of fright not respect. He was no more than a monster in the tales told to their children to force them to behave.

That’s when he saw her, a smile on her lips, which never registered in her eyes. She was dressed in Arthur’s favorite color, the palest pink that perfectly accentuated the hues of her skin. She watched everyone and everything, the brother and sister playing with the family’s goat, the new forger who was no where near as talented as her father, and him. Although their gazes never met full on, he could feel her penetrating stare; the heat of the eyes with so much to say.

The gasp and corresponding chastisement of an old seamstress forced him from his thoughts.

“The gods should have taken your life, not that of our noble heir.” She spit on his feet and his guards immediately moved to grab her.

Yes his son had belonged to the people as well.

Before Uther could interject, the maid was there.

“He is still our king, guard your tongue, and dampen your ill ease towards him. Division and hearts filled with hate is not what Camelot needs. We are only as strong as the hand we hold.”

She vanished as quickly as she appeared.

The king motioned for the woman to stand, “Your rebuke was duly noted, I appreciate your reminder of my duty to the people of this kingdom.”

  
~

Morgana and Arthur were gone.

There was no need for Guinevere’s presence in the castle and yet he knew she had to be there – within reach.

The king quickly grew tired of venturing to the lower town for a glimpse of her. When his eyes landed on the young maiden, he was reminded of blonde hair and blue eyes. The faded image of his son would once again become crystal clear in his mind. His heart warmed by memories of the prince’s youth. The first time Arthur bested him in a test of the blade, the first solo journey with a band of knights, and the day he stood against his father, renouncing his throne for the love and hope one woman had given to him.

With her near, Uther did not fight to hold on to his memories; they looped continuously in a steady stream. Distance played heart breaking tricks on his mind. He forgot the sound of Arthur’s laughter, the glory of his smile, he needed her.

“Guinevere.” His voice trembled as he spoke.

Her eyes were brighter, the whites pink, instead of the haunting shade of red they’d been in days past, “Yes, my Lord?”

“I need…” His bravado was a fear laced tremor. “I need you to return to your duties at the castle.”

She came the following day.

Life rushed through the halls of the palace. Songs and laughter tickled his ears. It was a momentary comfort in the waking hours of the day. Uther still found his heart was encased in pain.

The king slipped into the chambers once claimed by the prince. She was there. He stood in the doorway, studying her frame. The ease with which she moved throughout the quarters and the delicacy in the tips of her fingers as she traced the jagged lines of Arthur’s table and chair. He’d thought his presence had gone unnoticed, until she spoke.

“It only hurts when I breathe.”

Words escaped him. He did the only thing he knew to do. He joined her, staring out the window and down into the courtyard where Merlin clumsily attempted to overpower Percival in a mock battle. Their eyes, scanning – seeking the small crowd below for a crown of gold; their hearts broke all over again when they reconciled dreams with reality.

His hand reached for hers and she quickly slipped it from his grasp.

“Forgive me, your majesty, I will not pretend, nor will I ever forget.”

He deserved her hatred.

Uther stood by watching and ignoring her pain, when the father she adored was tried and convicted for a crime he knew he’d never commit. It was he that had sentenced her to death despite his son’s proclamations of love. He’d referred to her as an enchantress, implied that she was in no way deserving of his son’s affections. Shame filled him when her hardened gaze met the weary lines framing his eyes.

“Guinevere.”

Her steps faltered when he whispered her name.

“Arthur, loved you.”

Her body shook under the weight of unshed tears, and still she squared her shoulders and held her head high.

“And I him, sire, and I him.”

There was conviction in the words she spoke. No woman had ever spoken of him that way, not even his beloved Igraine.

The young woman remained still, frozen by the admission of the love that would never come to fruition.

The king continued.

“He believed you would be the queen, Camelot deserved.”

Encouraged by his son’s words, she turned, stalking towards him, eyes a blaze, “Yes and Arthur would have been the king, this land needed, yearned for; a man of honor, one concerned with the needs of his people. Not some bitter shell of a man, marred by the hand of vengeance.”

Why had death not come for him? There would be peace in death, instead of the constant pain with each in take of breath.

~

Guinevere’s contempt for him remained in check. In the presence of her fellow servants, the knights, and anyone else the king entertained at court, she was respectful, almost nurturing to Uther. Behind closed doors at the meals they now shared together, a heavy silence hung between them. There were insults in the swift motions in which she moved food from plate to mouth. Chastisement in the glances she tossed over her shoulder in his direction. She had a way of cutting him to the quick without one word.

Then, slowly Uther noticed a change.

Winter was dawning. The land covered in a thin layer of snow. One year had passed since Arthur’s death. It was time for everyone to move on. He caught the smoldering looks from Lancelot and the silly grin worn on Gwaine’s lips. It spurned a long forgotten emotion within the king.

Jealousy…

Her heart had never been his, the right to adoration belonged to Arthur. She deserved happiness. Someone who loved, honored, and sought to protect her. Children who bore a strong likeness to her, gentle eyes and soft smiles that warmed any lost soul.

“You should consider marrying; I could arrange your dowry.”

He held his breath awaiting her answer. Seeing Guinevere with another would cement the knowledge that Arthur was gone. Still it was unfair to hold her back.

Uther had not been prepared for the tears in her eyes or the water that pooled behind his lids.

“I could never love another.”

That feeling he knew and understood. The sinking despair that accompanies the loss of something you hold so dear. He was before her in seconds, arms wrapped around her waist, guiding her shaky frame closer. He’d expected an angry response, instead the broken girl wept in his arms and he wanted so much to end her suffering. He brushed the girls' curls from her face, wiped the tears from her eyes, pausing, letting his fingers linger on her lips.

He could never describe the kiss as innocent. Birthed out of the covetous nature of his heart, Uther needed to know how her tongue tasted, if her resolve remained in tact under the weight of his lust, did she submit to his authority in the face of potential pleasure?

All of his questions were answered.

Strength resided in the tiny hands that gripped his robes, determination in the playful nips she placed along the curve of his jaw. Her proclamation still new like a fresh wound inflicted upon his skin. She could never love another, but sometimes, desire, was a fine substitution for love.


End file.
